Not so long ago, at a football club not so far away…… QPR WARS Episode 4 : No Hope It was a time of great unrest. The evil Emperor Paladini had designs on building the cheapest footballing empire in the galaxy. To achieve this, he was busily constructing the Loftus Star, a boutique sporting centre unparalleled by any other. Alongside him, his major-domo, Darth Flavio, was systematically destroying the hopes and dreams of the masses. A small, but vocal rebel force was gathering on the edges of society, known only as the ‘Not606 Alliance’…… ****************************** The Empire forces gathered around the boardroom table to discuss the progress of his 4-year plan… “Any attack by opposing forces against the Loftus Star will be useless. This club is now the ultimate force in the Premiership”, hailed the Emperor. “That’s great news” said Darth Flavio. “So, no weaknesses whatsoever?” “Uh…. No” muttered Colonel Fernandes from the corner. “Um, you hesitated there. Anything I should know?” Fernandes cleared his throat. “It’s nothing. There’s just this little hole in the defence, and…if you shoot a football into it…. we lose and get relegated.” Darth Flavio was startled. “Hold on! That sounds like a fairly major flaw there!” Fernandes looked around for support, but none appeared… “It’s only a little hole, no more than two meters across…” “Why Flavio, that’s no bigger than one of your lunches!” exclaimed the Emperor with a grin. “Nevertheless” said Darth Flavio, “we can block it up, can’t we?” Fernandes was on more solid ground here. “Yeah sure! We can do it this afternoon if money’s no object.” Darth shuddered, and over his shoulder, he saw the Emperor do the same. Fernandes’ shoulders dropped. “Ok… We’ll get estimates….” ************************ Meanwhile, on a dusty plain overlooking the area, a speeder had parked and the occupants were overlooking the area from the brow of a hill. They were a strange assortment. There were two droids, one a highly skilled service delivery droid with a tendency to wander off at times, called Taarbs-2-D-2, and one that appeared to be an amalgamation of knock-offs, called C-Free-P-O. The two humans were also an ill-matched pair, with the Sharp-eyed young Luke KyleWalker in obvious awe of the master and sage, Obi-Warnock. Obi-Warnock pointed to the distant collection of buildings, and spoke. “The Westfield Centre. You will never find a more wretched place, full of chavs and villainy – well, unless you go to Chelmsford.” A few minutes later, they were stopped from entering the area by a gang of freelance football agents, who were eyeing Taarbs-2-D-2 with interest. Obi-Warnock waved his hands. “He is not the striker you are looking for…” The agent’s eyes seemed to glaze over. “Zis ees not ze strikair we are looking for…” they repeated in their strange, Parisian accent. “Move along…” muttered Obi-Warnock. “Move along” the agents repeated, and let the speeder pass. ************************ More instalments to come over the next few days…. Keep checking this post for updates…..
